My first definitive “favorite” American Leaguers, other than whoever were playing the Yankees on any given night, were the surprising Texas Rangers of the mid-’70s. I took to them for nearly tripping up the Oakland dynasty in 1974 and seeming poised to overthrow the three-time World Champs in 1975 (though I liked the ’71 A’s quite a bit because of Vida Blue…cripes, am I really splitting hairs over this in 2008?). Anyway, while my interest in the Texas Rangers of today is nil, I kind of looked forward to seeing them play the Mets at Shea to satisfy my inner 12-year-old’s concept of the ideal World Series. The rain [1], however, put the kibosh on that plan.
Sometimes you just have to send your inner 12-year-old to bed without supper.